Ruth 4

So many attractive things in life come with downsides or caveats. In the manga Usagi Drop (which translates to "Bunny Drop," and no, I have no idea what the title has to do with the story itself), a fellow named Daikichi attends his grandfather's funeral, only to find out that the old rascal had an affair and left behind a six-year-old daughter named Rin. All the family members want a piece of the inheritance, but no one wants to take care of the illegitimate child, whom they see as an ignominious disgrace. Daikichi, a single man with no parenting experience, decides to take the waif in. As you'd expect, Rin turns out to be a delightful child, which makes you wonder why the other relatives spurned her. (Admittedly, the second volume of the manga becomes downright creepy, evoking the thought, "Only the Japanese could come up with something like this." The manga was adopted into a live-action film that thankfully only focused on the comic's first volume.)

When Boaz holds an assembly with the unnamed guardian-redeemer, he presents the attractive part of his offer first, mentioning that Naomi's land needs to be redeemed. The guardian-redeemer readily agrees, probably imagining the vast flocks of sheep he can raise on this newfound land, until Boaz drops the other shoe. Yes, you can redeem the land, but there's this widow who comes with it. That's it for the guardian-redeemer, who makes a complete about-face, explaining, "I might endanger my own estate" (verse 6). To be fair, the guardian-redeemer may not have been averse to Ruth herself, but rather to the idea that the land would take the name of Ruth's dead husband (verse 5).

But Boaz understands that Ruth is not just "this widow" who comes with Naomi's land. She is a compassionate, selfless, godly, and downright awesome person. And I get the feeling that Boaz, in fact, had little doubt about how the guardian-redeemer would act. He deftly dangled a carrot in front of his nose, only to reveal that it came with a peanut--and knowing full well that the guardian-redeemer had a peanut allergy.

But from Ruth's point of view, the outcome wasn't so certain. I don't know if she was present at the town assembly--probably not, if the patriarchal nature of the Israelites was anything to go by--but just imagine the suspense she must have felt as she waited followed by the utter relief and rapture when Boaz returned triumphant. And not only does Ruth get a happy ending, but Naomi does also. She now has a "son" to raise and care for, a fact acknowledged by other Israelite women (verse 17).

Yes, Ruth's selflessness netted her a husband as well as happiness for her mother-in-law. But she couldn't have foreseen how her descendants would include King David and, eventually, Jesus Himself. Living in the here and now, it's sometimes hard to remember that some of my actions will have repercussions that I will never know in my lifetime. But the story of Ruth shows that no situation is too hopeless or dire for compassion. To appropriate a phrase from Jeff Goldblum's Ian Malcolm character from Jurassic Park, love will find a way.

Ruth 3

One particularly brutal proverb goes, "Faint heart never won fair lady." (Which means I'm doomed, but enough about me.) Well, the corresponding term, "Faint heart never won fair man," certainly applies in Ruth's case. Yes, Boaz showed her unwonted kindness but perhaps fearing that Ruth will be relegated to Boaz's friend zone, Naomi urges her daughter-in-law to be proactive. She tells her to make herself as attractive as possible (verse 3) and lie down at Boaz's "feet" after he's done with his riotous revelry (verse 4).

So Ruth does so. I especially like how the author describes the moment when Boaz realizes he's not sleeping all by his lonesome: "In the middle of the night, something startle[s]" him (verse 8). The NIV adds an exclamation point to the sentence, and the NASB uses the marvelous word "behold." So what exactly alarmed Boaz? Did a draft of wind blow across Boaz's now-chilly feet? Did Ruth rock and roll in her sleep? Did she kick him? I mean, just imagine sleeping in your comfy bed after meeting someone you admire only to wake up in the middle of the night finding them sleeping next to you, all prettified and smelling like roses (or whatever smell Israelites found alluring. Dates?)

But evidently, it's too dark for Boaz to see who it is. Once Ruth responds, though, she asks if she can snuggle under the covers with him--and, on a less irreverent note, redeem her family through marriage. Boaz basically agrees, revealing his affection and care for her by giving her six measures of barley for takeout (verse 15). However, he also knows the law, and the law says that there's someone who's an even closer relative to Ruth who gets first dibs (verse 12).

If I were in Boaz's sandals, I would be worried about whether this other relative would redeem and marry Ruth in my place. I wonder how easy--and how tempting--it would have been for a man with fewer scruples to get away with marrying Ruth right then and there. Although I do think that Boaz cares first and foremost for Ruth's well-being, shown by his encomium to her in the previous chapter, I also feel that he does feel some personal fondness for her. So even though letting this other man have the opportunity to redeem Ruth first is the right thing to do, I wonder if he felt anxious about it at all. But again, such thinking is selfish. I have yet to face a situation, commonplace in so many dramas, in which I have to acknowledge that someone I love would have a better life with someone else, but if I do, I hope and pray that I will make the right decision through the pain.

Ruth 2

From kindergarten to college, I was the most shy, diffident person imaginable when not talking with my family members. In fact, I have yet to come across a kid quite as shy as I was. So I consider myself tremendously fortunate to have had teachers who showed me such unwarranted, forbearing kindness and understanding. Yes, I was respectful and probably easier to handle than some tyrannical, misbehaving hellion, but I know how hard it is to engage with someone who doesn't really interact with you--even if such lack of interaction is out of social anxiety and not haughty insolence. But I did truly appreciate those who treated me, this withdrawn enigma, with compassion.

Boaz, a well-to-do and respected Israelite landowner, shows similarly abundant kindness to Ruth, a poor, widowed, Moabite woman. The cynical part of me is tempted to speculate that maybe Ruth had a pretty face and thus caught Boaz's eye, but the truth is that Boaz heard of Ruth's selfless aid to Naomi (verse 11). As a man of God (verse 4), he recognizes that God will reward Ruth for her sacrifice (verse 12)--so why not show her some generosity of his own? Not only does he feed her copious bread and roasted grain (verse 14), but he also tells his servants to leave her alone (verse 9) and even leave grain stalks for her to glean (verse 16).

All Boaz's accommodations are literal godsends to Ruth, because the allusion in verse 9 to the harvesters laying a hand on her reveal just how badly things could have gone for her. The Mosaic law commanded harvesters to leave behind stalks of grain so the poor and the widowed could glean it, but I imagine some workers didn't exactly jump for joy at having to leave some of their hard-earned harvest to the outcasts of society. Indeed, some may have "lifted a hand" against said outcasts out of resentment and spite. I don't know how long Ruth was gleaning before Boaz rode into town on his mighty steed, but it seems like none of the workers had censured her--Boaz's magnanimous disposition reflected in his servants.

I can moan and groan about my social anxiety, but the truth is that I'm more fortunate and have so many more opportunities than many others. As such, I know I have to watch for the "gleaners" in my life, those I can help and even those who, like Ruth, deserve generosity above and beyond the norm. Of course, I must rely on God to guide me in these matters, showing me where I should use the gifts and resources he has given me. Because as I've learned, when you show kindness to someone, sometimes you may get something in return, and sometimes you don't. But every single time, you get everything in return.

(To quote The Lego Movie, "I know that sounds like a cat poster. But it's true.")

Ruth 1

If you don't know what a weeaboo is, consider yourself lucky. And now consider yourself unlucky because I'm about to explain just what this fascinating little term means. A weeaboo is a pejorative term for someone so obsessed with Japanese culture (or what they perceive to be Japanese culture as seen through the oh-so accurate lens of anima and manga) that they not only want to become Japanese, but they also think that the Japanese are superior in every single way to every other culture. In their attempts to be Japanese, they often take the most stereotypical Japanese traits and misuse them (like, for example, adding "desu" to the end of every sentence or shouting "kawaii" in a high, squeaky voice whenever they see something that approaches the realm of cuteness. OK, real Japanese sometimes do the latter to an irritating degree, but you get my point). In short, they appreciate Japan on a superficial level without plumbing the depths of Japanese culture itself--after all, the culture, just like any other, has unsavory qualities lurking beneath its Hello Kitty/Super Mario/wacky game show/jdorama/Miyazaki veneer.

As an extremely Americanized, half-Japanese person myself who's recently been getting into Japanese culture, I sometimes wonder if I'm in danger of becoming a weeaboo myself. So I hope it doesn't sound like I'm one when I say that Naomi's interaction with Orpah reminds me a bit of Japanese customs. Basically, you're supposed to be polite and not refuse something until asked several times. When Naomi asks Ruth and Orpah to strike out on their own and not worry about her, both of her daughters-in-law say, "We will go back with you to your people" (verse 10). Only after Naomi asks them a second time, explaining why it will benefit them to return to Moab, does Orpah take her leave. But Ruth, selfless and loyal to Naomi, insists on accompanying her truly bereft mother-in-law to Bethlehem. (And bereft she is--not only has her husband died, but both of her sons as well. Sounds like fertile fodder for a Japanese or Korean drama, come to think of it….)

I'm guessing that most people focus on Ruth, and rightly so--after all, the book is named after her. But even though Orpah exits stage left, never to be heard of again, I sometimes wonder if I'm more like Orpah than Ruth. Orpah wasn't mean-spirited or malicious; she didn't return to Moab until Naomi told her the second time. And I do understand how she would be swayed by Naomi's logic--better return home to people with whom you're familiar. On the other hand, there was no foreseeable benefit for Ruth when she decided to go with Naomi. I admit that I can be selfish in many ways, buying things and doing stuff (and yes, I'm deliberately being vague here) that may be cool for others, but that mostly benefit or delight me. One could even be cynical and say that how one chooses one's friends has a selfish aspect. I know I prefer interacting or spending time with people I enjoy. I don't know if Ruth and Naomi got along beforehand, but they technically weren't related by blood--or even from the same culture.

But Ruth is not just supporting her mother-in-law--she also says, "Your people will be my people and your God my God" (verse 16). She acknowledges the one true God's sovereignty, and that genuine faith manifests itself in her compassionate attitude toward and devotion to her forlorn mother-in-law. I pray that I can develop similar selflessness.

Judges 21 and Book Conclusion

Judges 21

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is, for the most part, a happy-go-lucky, charming musical with a frothy tone, but one of its premises is a little disturbing: Basically, the brothers kidnap a group of women so that they can marry them. All turns out (relatively) hunky-dory in the end, but nowadays, the act of kidnapping a woman (or a man) with the intent of marriage is rather unseemly, to say the least. And what if the abductee says no (as they most likely would)? The abductor basically has two choices: 1.) let his quarry go and consequently get locked up when the abductee rats him out, or 2.) force the abductee to marry him--in which case he's basically spending his life with a spouse who hates his rotten guts. (Yes, I know about Stockholm syndrome and all that, but there's a reason it's called a "syndrome.") Neither choice is particularly attractive.

The Israelites use this marriage-by-abduction ploy to obtain "Wives for the Benjamites," as the NIV title puts it. After the Israelites realize that they've pretty much decimated the tribe of Benjamin, they feel remorse for their brethren. Wanting to give the diminished tribe heirs, the Israelites find one solution when those from Jabesh Gilead fail to show up at the sacred assembly. They mercilessly slaughter every non-virgin, giving them to the Benjamites as wives. Though after seeing their friends and families killed, I imagine the virgins of Jabesh Gilead were appreciably traumatized. It's a harsh judgment, but the Gileadites did break a sacred vow (verse 5).

But that's still not enough women to supply all the Benjamites with heirs (which makes me think: Does every single Benjamite man need an heir?) So that's where the abduction-marriages come into play. As the young women of Shiloh dance joyously in a field, the Benjamites are to spoil their rapture by spiriting them away and taking them as wives. This does provide a loophole so that the Israelites can get around their vow of not giving their daughters as wives to the Benjamites, but it comes across as just that--a loophole.

I do get that most people didn't marry for love back then--that was a luxury that most couldn't afford. And I do wonder about the logistics of the kidnapping. If two Benjamites had their eyes on the same woman, I suppose it came down to whoever moved their legs the fastest. Still, families did normally give their consent to marriages, and here they couldn't. The last verse of the chapter perhaps puts it best: "everyone did as they saw fit" (verse 25). (Though apparently that didn't apply to the abducted wives.)

Book Conclusion
Judges reflects a dark time in Israelite history; the people seemed to be stuck in a perpetual negative cycle of having to be rescued by a sometimes-violent judge before falling back into depravity. Yes, there were some bright spots, but the sanguine tint of Joshua had all but disappeared. I do wonder if we're in a "dark age" right now, spiritually. We have all this newfangled technology to make our lives better and complete tasks more efficiently, and we're getting a little better at understanding our differences and recognizing our similarities. But certain current events involving law enforcement, terrorism, and legal injustice, along with the farce of the current U.S. presidential election, certainly cast a pall on things. But, even if we are in a dark time in history, the next book of the Bible will reveal that, even in the depths of degeneracy, genuine kindness and faith can still manifest--and even make a difference for generations to come.

Judges 20

One of my brothers was--and still is, I think--fascinated with ants. He kept ant farms, played the Maxis game SimAnt, and liked to draw maps of fictional ant colonies. So I couldn't help learning a bit about ants as well. One of the most intriguing aspects of ants is that they're superorganisms. Basically, each ant can't survive for long on its own but is instead specialized to perform a specific set of tasks essential to the larger body, or organism--which in ants' case is the colony. Each individual ant, then, is not important. The death of the ant is like the untimely death of a human cell--temporarily inconvenient, perhaps, but far from catastrophic. Therefore, each ant sacrifices any sense if individuality for the greater good of the colony. (It's no surprise, then, that the movies A Bug's Life and Antz took this theme of individualism vs. the collective and ran with it, adding a healthy helping of anthropomorphism.)

I feel like the soldiers in some of these Biblical battles come across as ants--many of them die, but it's all for some greater purpose. Sure, you could say this about most other warfare, but God's involvement in Biblical battles throws this issue of sacrifice into greater relief. When the Israelites fight the Benjamites (to avenge the abuse and death of the concubine in the previous chapter), they get their behinds handed to them the first two days, losing 40,000 of their 700,000 soldiers to the 400,000 Benjamites. Here's the thing: God actually told the Israelites to fight these first two days and who to send out. These demoralizing defeats did get the Israelites to supplicate themselves before God (verse 23) and offer sacrifices (verse 26), but at the cost of 40,000 lives--human lives. It's tempting to say that God sacrificed all these soldiers to teach the rest of Israel a lesson, and equally easy to parrot the typical "God works in mysterious ways" nugget. But even though the mind of God is unfathomable, it's also worth remembering that our life on Earth is not the be-all and end-all; if those dead soldiers had faith in God, then their deaths just meant the beginning of their time with Him in heaven.

On the third day of fighting (there's the number three again), the Israelites use pretty much the same trick they used against Ai back in Joshua 8: They lure the Benjamites out of the city, ambush them, and than have a contingent burn the city while it lies defenseless. Evidently, the overconfident Benjamites weren't up on their history.

But the sad thing is that this battle, costing thousands of lives, needn't have happened at all. The Benjamites refuse to hand over the "wicked men of Gibeah" who had abused the concubine to death in the previous chapter (verse 13). Such clannish behavior reeks of illogical obstinacy and pride, protecting "one's own," no matter their ignominious deeds, against justice. As I know all too well, stubbornness builds when emotion clouds one's judgment--not a good thing. Why worry about The Shadow clouding one's mind when we can cloud our own minds just fine?

Judges 19

Have you ever seen a work of "art" with absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever? I've seen plenty of bad movies, but many of them have at least one aspect, insignificant though it may be, that peeks its head out from the dreck surrounding it. For example, Batman v Superman and Suicide Squad were severe disappointments, but I could kind of see what the filmmakers were trying to do. Going back further, Inchon (released in 1981) is utterly wretched, but Jerry Goldsmith's masterful musical score is fit for a sophisticated war epic. Speaking of musical scores, I can think of a bunch of those that consist of cacophonous noise that adds little to, and in fact detracts from, their films: Battleship, the first Iron Man, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's scores to the otherwise superb films The Social Network, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and Gone Girl, and the list goes on….

The Micah story had its fair share of disreputable and selfish characters, but Judges 19 takes depraved salaciousness to a whole new level. Basically, a Levite's concubine runs away to her father's house, is forced to go back with her husband, is raped to death in a Benjamite town, and finally has her body hacked into 12 pieces by her husband, with each piece going to a tribe of Israel. This story has no character with redeeming features that I can perceive.

I suppose the concubine's father doesn't do anything too objectionable. All he does is try to keep the Levite from leaving, saying "Oh, stay the rest of the day and have a bite to eat" and "Oh, it's getting late, why don't you just stay the night?" The Levite apparently isn't completely averse to spending time as a guest in his father-in-law's house, so he stays a few days until he decides that he should really extricate himself and go home. I do wonder why the concubine's father was so keen on having the Levite say forever and ever and ever. Perhaps he was just lonely?

In a bit of tragic irony, the Levite decides to avoid staying at the city of the foreign Jebusites, perhaps thinking that a city of Benjamites, his fellow Israelites, will be safer. Oh, how wrong he is. Yes, an old man takes him and his concubine in, but then the "wicked men of the city" (verse 22)--an understatement, if I ever saw one--clamor to commit unspeakable acts to the Levite. (This exchange is disturbingly similar to the one that took place with Lot and the men of God in Sodom.) The old man protects the Levite, which is all well and good--but he offers up the concubine and his own virgin daughter (verse 24)--so that the "wicked men" can do unspeakable acts to them instead! What kind of sense does that make? (Answer: None.) The daughter gets off scot-free (though she was probably none too happy with dear old Dad), but the concubine is not so lucky.

The abuse of the concubine is bad enough, but when it's over, she crawls to the house at daybreak--and it's not until daylight that the Levite decides to open the door and maybe check to see how she's doing. And when he sees her lying there, he curtly says, "Get up; let's go" (verse 28). I get that maybe he didn't love her and was salty at her for being unfaithful, but still--she's just spent a whole night being abused to the point of death. Shouldn't that merit compassion from anyone, even a complete stranger?

Of course, I can say all this and claim honestly that it affects me--but I know that analogous cases of abuse still occur with alarming frequency today. And yet, what am I doing about any of it? (Answer: Nothing.) I know all too well that I must be more proactive about the issues that God lays on my heart.

Judges 17-18

The word "mercenary" has bit of a pejorative ring to it. After all, valuing cold, hard cash over personal beliefs has a soulless tint to it. Private military companies, or PMCs, provide soldiers to countries willing to pay for them; perhaps the most famous real-world example is America's use of PMCs in Iraq. In the video game Metal Gear Solid 4, the amount of soldiers in PMCs vastly outnumber those in countries' real armies--a situation primed for mind-bending, convoluted plot twists. On the other hand, Captain Malcolm Reynolds from Joss Whedon's TV show Firefly is also a mercenary, but a rather more raffish one.

The story of Micah's idols also features a mercenary willing to work for the highest bidder--but the twist is that this mercenary is a Levite priest. The priest first finds himself in the employ of Micah, a fellow with the wrong idea of who God really is. The whole saga starts when Micah halfheartedly tries to pilfer some silver from his mother's coffers; once he hears his mother curse, he thinks better of it and returns the booty to her. His mother says, "The LORD bless you, my son!" (17:2)--and promptly proceeds to build an idol from some of the silver. Definitely some cognitive dissonance going on here--it's like giving a waiter a big tip, and then following them to their house so you can burglarize it.

Into this screwy household ambles the priest, looking for work. Micah offers the priest a mouth-watering compensation package, apparently enough to convince the priest to overlook the presence of a big, honking, silver idol. You can almost picture Micah rubbing his hands together like some overacting movie character as he says, "Now I know that the LORD will be good to me, since this Levite has become my priest" (17:13). If the foreshadowing here were any more explicit, it would be unsuitable for children under 18.

Meanwhile, the Danites, kicked out of their land by the Amorites and bereft of a home sweet home, make their way to Micah's city, loot the man's house, and abscond with his priest (offering an even better compensation package than Micah did) for good measure. Micah complains, but the Danites threaten him none too subtly, so all Micah can do is turn around and go home (18:25-26). One little side note I want to make here: When the Danites take Micah's idols and leave, they put "their little children" and livestock ahead of them as they leave (18:21). You'd think that the Danites would leave the children and animals outside the city gates. But perhaps this was a blustering show of power--the Danites felt so confident that they could parade their kids and livestock around the city as they ransacked Micah of his precious idols.

Micah was so sure that his silver idols or his flighty priest would protect him, but he lost both in the end. Of course, neither an idol nor a mercenary priest is worth anything, so Micah shouldn't have really felt like the world was ending. I don't personally know anyone who actually worships a carved statue, but the idols of money, power, fame, material possessions, or even certain relationships can tempt far more than some inanimate "god" that looks just as idiotic and vapid as the person who carved it. Losing something you value, even if that object doesn't have true value, can be devastating. But God, whose worth is boundless, will never leave us. He is the One we should value over all else.

Judges 16

If you've read a decent amount of fairy tales or know at least a smattering of jokes, you know that things usually happen in threes. In the Brothers Grimm version of "Snow White," the Evil Queen tries killing the titular character with a suffocatingly tight bodice and poison comb before the infamous apple finally does the trick. We have the Three Little Pigs and the Three Billy Goats Gruff. And dumb blonde jokes always mention a brunette and a redhead before relating the vacuous actions or utterances of the flaxen-haired one. And, of course, there's that old chestnut "Third time's the charm."

The Samson and Delilah story isn't a fairy tale, and it isn't that much of a joke either (and if it is, it's not a very funny one). When the fetching Delilah asks Samson what his weakness is, Samson does manage to stave off the revelation three times. If this were a fairy tale, he'd be safe. But alas, he is not a character in one of Messrs. Grimm or Andersen's opuses, and he crumbles to pieces the fourth time, spilling all. Delilah uses a disturbingly similar tactic to get Samson blabbing as the Philistine wife did back in chapter 14. She accuses him of not loving him (verse 15) and uses the best weapon that anyone, man or woman, could use: nagging. In fact, she nags Samson so much that he is "sick to death of it" (verse 16). OK, Samson, no need to be a drama queen.

The Philistines shave Samson's hair, sapping his strength, but far more devastating is the statement in verse 20: "But [Samson] did not know that the LORD had left him." In church, congregants often sing praise songs of how the God of Angel armies is always by our side, and how His love 1. never fails, 2. never gives up, and finally 3. never runs out on us. So to hear that God did leave someone, and that it is possible for God to do so in some sense, is both frightening and heart-rending. Of course, God did not abandon Samson completely, but it does remind us that if we turn away from God, there will be consequences.

So Samson gets his eyes gouged out and is basically reduced to a performing monkey for the Philistines. But when Samson prays to God, asking for His sovereign power, God does return to him. Because the Philistines are architectural idiots, they think it's a good idea to support a massive temple with two columns--that are right next to each other. So God and Samson take advantage of this risible flaw to bring the whole edifice down onto the Philistines' dismayed heads.

So what can I glean from the saga of Samson? 1. Pray to God, and 2. Don't give in to incessant nagging.

Judges 15

If you weren't dozing off in history class that day (and you're an American), you're probably familiar with the names Hatfield and McCoy. In the late 1800s, these two families had a bitter and bloody feud so deadly and so grievous that the conflict was eventually taken all the way up the U.S. Supreme Court.  In the 1940s, the Disney Studios parodied the feud in a segment of the 1946 "package" film Make Mine Music. Called "The Martins and the Coys," the cartoon spins the tale of two quarreling hillbilly families who eventually kill each other off. The only survivors are a gal on the Martin side and a fella on the Coy side who fall in love and marry. But of course, the cartoon ends with the couple feuding because, you know, that's what married couples do after their salad days. Incidentally, the modern Disney company apparently thinks that the cartoon is too violent, as it's cut from all the home video/DVD releases of Make Mine Music.

The feud between Samson and the Philistines starts off by going back and forth several times. (That's the destructive cycle of most feuds: Side A does something grievous to Side B, Side B wants vengeance, Side A wants to retaliate for that act of vengeance, and so on, ad infinitum.) Samson, going through all the trouble of taking a goat to give to his sweetie, is understandably pissed when he discovers that his wife has now been given to his companion instead (verse 2). In return, Samson pulls off a mischievous shenanigan that puts your typical frat prank to shame: He ties torches to some foxes' tails and has them run free through the Philistines' fields. And it's not just a couple foxes--he catches three hundred of the little critters (verses 4-5).

The Philistines' retaliation escalates to a horrifying extent: They burn Samson's wife and father-in-law to death (verse 6), causing Samson to knock off several Philistines in return. The whole thing calls to mind that gem of a rejoinder familiar to all elementary school students: "They started it!"

Fortunately, Judah, along with its vast army, intervenes to provide some adult supervision. But wait--they're supporting the Philistines, telling Samson that he needs to be handed over. Just what side are they on? Of course, it doesn't matter as Samson soon breaks his bonds and starts racking up a string of kill combos, much to the Philistines' consternation. And what weapon does he use? Why, the jawbone of a donkey--what else? Though I suppose after oxgoads, tent pegs, and shattered pottery, I shouldn't be surprised at some of the judges' unique, patented way of offing enemies.

Judges 14

If you know anything about The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings, then you know that Bilbo Baggins absconds with the One Ring after playing a game of riddles with Gollum--a contest at once droll and fraught with tension. After they exchange several legitimate riddles, including that "horses on a red hill" chestnut, Bilbo, desperate and running out of real riddles, cheats by asking, "What do I have in my pocket?" (The answer, of course, is Gollum's precioussss, the One Ring.) You'd think that Gollum would have accused the hobbit of asking an unfair question, but like an idiot, he tries to answer it.

I would argue that Samson's riddle here ("Out of the eater, something to eat; / out of the strong, something sweet") isn't really that fair either (verse 14). If you hadn't been aware of the very specific situation of Samson scooping up honey from a lion's carcass (breaking his Nazirite vow in the process by touching a corpse), would you have been able to guess it? I suspect the Philistines suspected foul play, so they played a dirty trick of their own by asking Samson's newfound wife to inveigle the answer out of her husband.

For all Samson's physical, lion-rending prowess, he falls for a pretty face as readily as a weeaboo falls for his anime waifu. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about--good!) Although it's not explicitly stated in the Nazirite vow, I'm sure it would make much more sense for one devoting his life to the Lord to take a wife who also believes in and follows God. And yet as soon as Samson sees this apparently fetching Philistine woman, he commands his father, "now get her for me as my wife" (verse 2), adding, in a supreme bit of logical rhetoric, "She's the right one for me" (verse 3). I'm tempted to say to Samson, "Well, go get her yourself if you find her so foxy," but that would be ignoring the cultural norm at the time of allowing one's father to choose one's mate.

I hate to say this, but the way Samson's wife gets him to reveal the secret makes her come across as a teenager. She says illogically, "You hate me! You don't really love me" (verse 16) and cries for seven days straight (verse 17). But apparently her caterwauling works on Samson, who does tell her on the seventh day right before the feast ends, which makes me think: You've tolerated her blubbering for a week. Can't you just hold out for one more stinking day?

But as verse 4 foreshadows, God uses Samson's weakness for women for His own purposes. After the Philistines solve the riddle, causing Samson to owe them 60 pieces of clothing (verse 13), God gives Samson the strength to get back at the Philistines. He gives the riddle-explainers clothes all right--but said clothes come from the bodies of 30 Philistine men from Ashkelon that he just beat down (verse 19). See? God does appreciate irony.

Judges 13

In Western society, the stereotype is that girls are obsessed with their hair. In second grade, I distinctly remember sitting on the classroom rug behind a pair of girls, watching as they braided each other's hair and thinking to myself, "What planet is this fascinating alien race from? Has anyone performed an extensive, peer-reviewed study and written a monograph on their behavior?" (OK, maybe not that second question, but you get the point.) On the other hand, your stereotypical boy doesn't care too much about how his hair looks. I was--and still am--one of those people. Others can twiddle around with their coiffure as much (or as little) as they want as far as I'm concerned, but I couldn't really be bothered about those little strands sticking out of my scalp. When I wake up in the morning, I check to see that I don't have any unruly sprigs or cowlicks sticking out like miniature wings; if I do, I just splash water on them until they decide to regain their composure. And I consider the act of shaving my facial hair as a necessary chore, like brushing my teeth.

Because a Nazirite couldn't cut the hair on his head, I wonder if that made him care more or less about how his that hair actually appeared. Maybe it was different for each individual; perhaps some just let their mane flow to all points of the compass while others molded it into elaborate topiaries. In any case, although Numbers 6 introduced the requirements for the Nazirites, I believe this is the first mention of an actual Nazirite in the Bible (unless I forgot, which may very well be the case.) Not being able to cut one's hair could get inconvenient, and I guess a Nazirite couldn't be an undertaker (because he couldn't touch anything unclean). But I di wonder how difficult it was to be abstemious regarding alcohol. I know many people today, including me, do just fine without alcohol. But back in the days of yore, fermenting beverages kept them from spoiling; yes, I know water wasn't some ultra-rare commodity, but just how prevalent was wine back then? I imagine one would have had to possess a bit more willpower to remain a teetotaler back then.

Anyway, before Samson's birth, his parents (Manoah and his unnamed wife) meet the angel of the Lord, but they somehow mistake him for a prophet. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense at first brush, as the Samson's mother says that he "looked like the angel of God, very awesome" (verse 6). (I assume the formal definition of "awesome" is being used here, though I suppose the informal definition wouldn't be out of place.) You know the saying, "If it looks like a duck…." I don't want to judge Manoah and his wife, though; I'm sure the author left out some subtleties of the situation that would make their misapprehension more credible. What is important is that they follow the angel's directions and treat him with hospitality, preparing to kill a young goat to feed to him. Of course, the goat also makes for a perfect burnt offering through which the angel reveals his true nature by using the offering's flame as an impromptu elevator (verse 20). Being an angel does have its perks, including being fireproof.

Judges 12

I'm not a super-voracious comic book reader, but I have read a few that I enjoy. One of my favorites is The Ultimates, a kind of rebooted take on the Avengers written by Mark Millar (scribe of Secret Service, made into the movie Kingsman: The Secret Service, and Kick-Ass, made into guess-what-movie) and penciled by Bryan Hitch. In the first of the two volumes, Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch are a peripheral presence throughout, not doing much and only appearing after the big final battle to essentially say, "Phew! Wasn't that hard work? But we saved the world!" (For those of you not in the know, Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch are Magneto's kids, and if that makes matters even more confusing for you, congratulations! It means that you aren't a comic book nerd.)

I feel that the Ephraimites have a similar attitude as Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, but even more caustic. If you remember back in chapter 8, these same Ephraimites complained to Gideon that he didn't allow them to come along and fight in the confrontation with the Midianties. Gideon was able to mollify the querulous lot, but Jephthah has to deal with outright lies this time. Jephthah actually had asked for the Ephraimites' help, but they had refused. Of course, only after Jephthah vanquishes the Ammonites do the Ephraimites turn around and say they could have helped. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that the Ephraimites only said this because they coveted the glory that comes from victory.

I can't think of a whole lot of situations when I wanted approbation for something I could have done but didn't. (And I've definitely never wanted to burn down someone's house over their head, as verse 1 puts it.) However, I feel that I neglect God's guidance more than I should--and of course, I do regret it when I realize how much easier it would have been had I just listened to what the Creator of the universe told me.

After the Gileadites soundly beat the Ephraimites, they devise a rather brutal pronunciation test--using the word "Shibboleth"--to determine whether someone is an Ephraimite and thus worthy of slaughter "at the fords of the Jordan" (verse 6). During World War II, some American soldiers did something similar with the Japanese, who couldn't pronounce "lollapalooza" (they pronounced it like "roraparooza"). I myself would never pass in a Spanish-speaking country because I just cannot roll the letter "r." If my survival depended on performing an alveolar trill, I'd be quite dead.

Judges 10-11

Rags-to-riches stories abound in the annals of humanity, from Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale "Little Claus and Big Claus" and Charles Dickens's Pip of Great Expectations to the real world examples of Andrew Carnegie and, yes, Oprah. At first glance, the story of Jephthah looks like it's going to follow that pattern. Today he would be considered a--well, "illegitimate child" is perhaps the most polite way to put it. Spurned by his siblings and bereft of any inheritance, he apparently becomes a great warrior--so great that the elders of Gilead "stoop" to asking him to lead them against the oppressive Ammonites.

Jephthah, unimpressed, asks, "Didn't you hate me and drive me from my father's house? Why do you come to me now, when you're in trouble?" (11:7). Suddenly, it's the elders who are now having to grovel before Jephthah. But if Jephthah had been expecting an apology, or at least an acknowledgment of his past mistreatment, he would have been disappointed--the elders, like the "best" politicians, brush off the questions with a dismissive "Nevertheless" (11:8). But Jephthah still contrives to get something out of this, calling on God as a witness to the promise that the elders will make Jephthah their head if he succeeds.

Before attacking, Jephthah considerately pens a nice, long missive to the Ammonite king (11:15-27), laying out logically, concisely, and respectfully the reasons why the Ammonites are basically in the wrong. Perhaps recognizing the sound logic and realizing that he can't legitimately argue against it, the king ignores the letter. Little did the Ammonite king know that he would be a precursor to certain YouTube commenters. Or rabid fanboys of the DC cinematic universe.

The "Sprit of the LORD" comes down on Jephthah before he goes off to kick the Ammonites' behinds, and all seems to be fine and dandy. But then Jephthah makes a vow that you just know will not end well: He promises to sacrifice as a burnt offering the first thing that comes out of his house to greet him (11:31).

Now, really. What did Jephthah expect? That his pet goat or ram would charge out of his house the moment he got home? Didn't he even consider the possibility that a human, one of his loved ones, might rush out to greet him first? Well, that's exactly what happens: Jephthah's daughter, his only child, comes out to meet her father, turning what should be a rapturous moment into a crushingly tragic one.

The daughter's response once she learns of her father's idiotically impetuous vow is heart-rending: Recognizing God's sovereignty, she promises to go along with the vow but wants two months to mourn. And there's no solace to be found in an Abraham/Isaac-like intervention from God. Jephthah "did to her as he had vowed" (11:39)--far more devastating and final irrevocable words than any vivid description.

I admit that this story, of an innocent girl dying for the foolish mistake of her father, gives me what some would call "the feels." The author adds that the daughter was a virgin (11:39), and knowing that girls were often married off at a very young age--I can hardly bear to think of the possible implications. I don't have any fuzzy moral to take from this, other than perhaps "Don't try to use God to accomplish your own selfish means" and "Don't make witless, vague vows to God." But perhaps it's important to remember that any bad decisions we make can have even worse effects on the people close to us.

Judges 9

I don't want to get too political here, especially in such a volatile election year, but I'm sure most of you are aware by now of Brexit (i.e., Great Britain's departure from the European Union). Although the actual exit is not yet a fait accompli, and its full ramifications have yet to manifest themselves, one of the most telling facts is how many British people looked up what the European Union was--after they had voted to leave it. One almost wants to say to those folks, "Well, you're going to get what you asked for…"

So too did the people of Shechem get what they asked for, but it didn't take them long to realize just what they had gotten their sorry selves into. Abimelek, one of Gideon's seventy sons, wants to establish himself as an autocrat of the Shechem region because he's "related" to them (verse 2). "OK!" say the people of Shechem with eager, dazzled eyes, after which Abimelek proceeds to promptly murder all 70 of his brothers. Not only that, but he offers them as human sacrifices on an offering stone (verse 5). Murdering your siblings is bad enough, but to do so on an offering stone is beyond despicable. He also surrounds himself with "reckless scoundrels" (verse 4), as the NIV colorfully puts it, though I think that's a poor choice of words. "Scoundrel" calls to mind a fellow who is dishonest, yes, but also rakish as well--kind of like Han Solo from Star Wars or Captain Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly. Abimelek's flunkies probably committed much more heinous crimes than shooting Greedo first.

Jotham, Abimelek's sole surviving brother, takes the trouble to literally shout from a mountaintop how imbecilic the people of Shechem are to follow his fratricidal brother. After telling an evocative (and, as it will turn out, prophetic) parable, he turns tail, never to be heard from again. But perhaps the Shechemites take Jotham's words to heart, for God soon stirs up discontent in their fickle hearts. So when a fellow named Gaal appears to challenge Abimelek's rule, the people are only too ready to support him. Although Gaal ultimately fails, I do like the exchange he has with Zebul, Abimelek's lackey. When Gaal sees Abimelek's troops marching down from the mountains, Zebul disingenuously dismisses them as shadows (verse 36). Gaal probably thinks, "Just how dumb do you think I am?"--forcing Zebul to backpedal and challenge Gaal to confront the army, using the charmingly colloquial phrase, "Where is your big talk now?" (verse 38).

Abimelek squelches the first few uprisings, burning down a tower for good measure. But when he tries to take the same tack again with a different tower, a woman finally does what someone in the first tower with a modicum of logic should have done: She drops a millstone on Abimelek's wretched head (verse 53). Such an ignominious end befits a man so crazed for control that he murdered all but one of his multitudinous brothers. Many Shechemites died at the hands of the man they put into power, meaning that no one really came out on top in this story. Let's just hope that Brexit doesn't cause some tyrant to take over Britain until a woman decides to drop a stale mincemeat pie on his head from atop Big Ben.

Judges 8

I'm not going to give away the ending to Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (the film famous--or infamous--for its shower stabbing scene), but the climax proves suitably surprising and yet consistent with the twisted nature of the film. But after that high point, the film ends with a rather bizarre denouement in which one character basically psychoanalyzes another character, telling us what we've basically been shown in vivid detail just a few seconds earlier. Sleeping Beauty (the fairy tale) is similar--we're all familiar with the story of how some fairy gets pissed off at not being invited to Briar Rose's christening and curses the princess to sleep until awakened by true love's kiss. Well, after the prince awakens the princess with said kiss, the fairy tale embarks upon a kooky tangent, telling of how the prince's mother is really an ogre who wants to consume her son's newborn kids. This is one case where I'm glad that Disney decided to change the original fairy tale.

After Gideon's resounding victory over the Midianites, his life also takes a rather bizarre path. (I'll take the opportunity here to take a bizarre tangent of my own: The word "bizarre" always reminds me of this one time I gave that word to a kid for a spelling test. Quick as a shot, she cheekily--though not inaccurately--retorted, "You're bizarre.")

Anyway, the bizarreness starts when Gideon pacifies the Ephraimites (who believe they've been given a thankless task chasing down the scattered remnants of the Midianite army) by basically stuffing their egos (verses 2-3). After that, the people of Sukkoth and Peniel spurn Gideon's request for food for his army, thinking that there's no way that Gideon can defeat Zebah and Zalmunna, the kingz of Midian. Well, guess what, Gideon does capture the Z-bros, so on the way back, he teaches "the men of Sukkoth a lesson by punishing them with desert thorns and briers" (verse 16). Think about that the next time you use or hear the threat "I'll teach you a lesson!" Gideon also pulls "down the tower of Peniel" (verse 17) for good measure. I wonder--did Gideon pull down the tower with his bare hands? Not much of a tower if he did.

But Gideon isn't done with the Z-bros. He tells his son, who's only a boy, to kill them, but his son understandably balks. Perhaps Gideon was expecting his son to be like Hit-Girl or young Elektra Natchios, but I do wonder what Gideon's thought process was. Was he trying to train his son to "become a man"? Was he trying to humiliate the Z-bros by having them killed by a mere boy? In any case, I don't envy this kid.

The Israelites are so enamored with Gideon that they ask him to be their king, but Gideon knows who the real King is, saying, "The LORD will rule over you" (verse 23). But he does ask everyone to give him a gold earring from their share of the Midianite plunder, which adds up to the not unsubstantial mass of about 20 kilograms. And what does he do with all this loot? He makes it into an ephod. Now, an ephod is basically a shirt that the priests wore, so imagine this gargantuan 40-pound T-shirt just hanging out in the middle of the town. As bizarre as this must have looked--or maybe because it looked so bizarre--the Israelites start worshipping this giant shirt, as if they had nothing better to do. The author states that the ephod "became a snare to Gideon and his family" and leaves it at that (verse 27). Come on, you can't leave us hanging like that! What happened next? Did the ephod gain sentience and walk away to form a society of like-minded apparel?

Gideon manages to pump out 70 sons before he dies, which seems horrifying on the woman's end until the author explains that "he had many wives" (verse 30). Gideon did have a full life--even if much of it consisted of unusual incidents, in the end he could take satisfaction from his trust in God and how that allowed him to be God's instrument in defeating the Midianites. Life is full of weird, unpredictable twists and turns, but God is the unwavering constant.

Judges 7

Although I'm a procrastinator in certain areas of my life, if I know I need to be somewhere by a certain time, I like to make sure that I leave more than enough time to get there. Nowhere is this little trait of mine more manifest than when I need to fly somewhere. Because my arms are weak, I can't flap very efficiently, meaning that I must go to the airport when I need to fly. I don't want to get mired in traffic or bogged down in a serpentine TSA security line that would put the queue for Radiator Springs Racers at Disney's California Adventure to shame--so I like to leave as early as possible. Or take sports: As I've mentioned before, I only watch sports intermittently, but when I do watch, I prefer when the team I'm rooting for builds a comfortable lead early on. (Because most of the time when I happen to watch, if it's a close game at the end, the team I'm backing has an uncanny tendency to blow it. Case in point: the 49ers in the 2013 Super Bowl and the Warriors in this year's NBA Finals.)

Likewise, if I were in Gideon's sandals, I would have liked to have as many warriors (small "w," though who knows, Draymond Green might prove to be a feisty soldier) in the army as possible. Just to be safe. And yet God shows Gideon that He is the one orchestrating the victory; their strength is not in numbers. First, God asks Gideon to dismiss all the soldiers who have qualms about fighting (verse 3). Then, He asks Gideon to perform the "drinking water" test. As I learned in Sunday school, those who drank the water straight from the river were dismissed because it would take them longer to prepare themselves should the enemy suddenly attack. The ones who drank from cupped hands would be more alert of any sudden danger. As for myself, if I had made it through the test of fear, I would have inadvertently passed the water test--not because I've been trained to stay alert, but because I don't fancy bending down so that my butt sticks way out in the breeze, as Holden Caulfield might put it.

Gideon spies a group of men having a conversation about a dream that foreshadows Gideon's victory. In all honesty, it's a rather comical image: a loaf of barley bread, rolling across the field like the unfortunate, neglected meatball of that esteemed air of yore, crashes into a tent (verse 13). While the tableaux is rather evocative of Looney Tunes, so too, in a way, is the method by which God, through Gideon, defeats the Midianites. Basically, the Israelites make a raucous din with trumpets, bellowing voices, and shattered pottery. All this cacophony is apparently too much for the Midianites, who run way screaming in fear (verse 21). On second thought, perhaps this is more like Mars Attacks! than Looney Tunes; we all know how thoroughly frightening certain songs can be.

Judges 6

Here we have an account of a horde of bloodthirsty marauders putting an entire nation into jeopardy. What to do? Judges 6 provides the answer: God raises up a hero, Gideon, who subsequently has to get down to business to defeat the Huns Midianites.

In all seriousness, the Midianites have more in common with the Huns than Gideon does with Mulan. From the very beginning, Mulan is a determined, pro-active go-getter. (Her character arc is more how she starts out fighting for her father, but starts to fight for China as she starts to realize the extent of the Huns' devastation. But that's a whole other topic.) Gideon, on the other hand, proves remarkably timorous for a warrior, waffling about a bit and asking God for numerous tests.

First, he asks God for a sign, and God obliges by discharging a tongue of flame at Gideon's offering (verse 21). I don't know about you, but a seeing a fireball launched out of heaven toward a very specific location would be more than enough of a sign for me. But Gideon doesn't stop there. He asks if God can make a wool fleece wet and the ground dry (verses 37-38), and then asks for Him to make the fleece dry and the ground wet (verses 39-40).

But Gideon also evinces timidity throughout the chapter. He excuses himself a lot (verses 13, 15), threshes wheat in the winepress to conceal it from the Midianites (verse 11), claims that his family has a low status (verse 15) even though he has at least ten servants to do his bidding, and surreptitiously smashes his father's idolatrous altars in the middle of the night (verse 27).

Honestly, as a non-confrontational person myself, I do kind of sympathize with Gideon's attitude. I like to consider all the variables before I make a decision (see yesterday's post), I perhaps apologize too often, downplay my achievements, and, when I have to do something potentially embarrassing, try to make sure that no one else witnesses it. And yet God used this equivocating man to engineer one of the most decisive victories in Israel's post-Joshua pre-kingdom history. Gideon may have been hesitant, but he obeyed God. And obeying God can work wonders in one's life.

Judges 5

From time to time, I can be decisive. A few years back, when I traveled to my brothers to Walt Disney World with my brothers, I took it upon myself to plan what parks to visit on which day, which attractions to experience (and in, some cases, the order to visit said attractions), and what food to partake of. The entire trip pretty much ran like clockwork, allowing us to visit everything we wanted with ample time for mid-day naps in the hotel. However, I can also be frustratingly indecisive. When I eat out with my family, I just have the most difficult time choosing somewhere to eat. When playing board games, especially when it's my first time and I've only had the rules explained to me out loud (as I mentioned, I'm a visual learner and not an auditory learner), I can get crippled by analysis paralysis. I'm fully aware that I can take too long to make decisions, and that such a trait can be detrimental.

In the song of Deborah, a more florid account than the prose version of the story in chapter 4, Deborah criticizes the tribe of Reuben for not joining the fight against Sisera's army. In fact, she says the exact same thing twice in verses 15 and 16: "In the districts of Reuben / there was much searching of heart." I know that Hebrew poetry relies on parallelism, but Deborah repeats this phrase verbatim. To her credit, it is a nifty little phrase, so I can understand if she just wanted to use it twice. But "searching your heart" is usually a positive term, reflecting the idea that one should think about the ramifications of a decision before making an impetuous choice. However, it's also no good if someone just stands around mulling over one's options all day; at some point, one needs to take action.

As I mentioned, most of Deborah's song retells the story of the previous chapter using more poetic imagery; the phrase "From the heavens the stars fought" (verse 20) proves especially vivid and evocative. However, she does add an extra little tidbit at the end of Sisera's mother peeking into Jael's tent and wondering why her son is taking so long. Well, he's taking so long because his head is stapled to the ground with a tent peg, but Sisera's mother seems to be in some sort of denial, thinking that Sisera has won and is merely taking his time sorting through all the plunder. She's even looking forward to receiving "highly embroidered garments for [her] neck" (verse 30). This emotionally complex scene, dealing with hubris denial, and even poignancy, adds a somber note to the otherwise triumphant mood of the song.

Judges 4

Remember in elementary school (or even middle school) when everyone was so passionate about cooties and silly boy vs. girl competitions? I'd wager that the vast majority of kids rooted for their own sex; when I was a kid, I definitely thought that most boys were awesome and that girls were weird, unfathomable ditzes who were way too obsessed (and I'm aging myself here) with that Spice Girls and Olsen twins crap. Of course, we boys were better because we liked cool s*** like Power Rangers and Beast Wars: Transformers.

Needless to say, my stance today is very different. OK, I would probably still think that the Spice Girls and Olsen twins were crap if I ever had the inclination to actually watch/listen to them, but the proliferation of the kick-ass heroine in pop culture offers a refreshing alternative to the pretty pretty princesses of yesteryear. Now, we recognize cheerleading and gymnastics as legitimate sports that require real effort, skill, and strength (perhaps no more definitively manifested than through Simone Biles's jaw-dropping domination at this year's Olympics), and more schools are encouraging girls and women to pursue STEM courses. It's a heartening trend--one young kid I tutor walked in one day wearing a Frozen dress and carrying an Avengers lunchbox. Awesome. Of course, like anything, the trend of invincible heroines in fiction can go too far--do we really need all those Hunger Games copycats? And do the males in those films/books always have to be pathetic losers or one-note stoics?

Deborah is certainly in the mold of the proactive heroine; such is her mental acumen that she actually leads/judges the traditionally patriarchal Israel (verse 4). She tells a fellow Israelite named Barak to conquer a Canaanite army led by one Sisera. Barak balks, asking if Mommy can come with him, which prompts Deborah to basically say, "Of course I'll come along, but stop acting like such a kitty" (verse 9). Once Barak reaches the enemy encampment, we can read between the lines of Deborah's prompting in verse 14 and infer that he hesitated upon seeing all those scary iron chariots. To his credit, though, he follows the directions of God through Deborah, throwing Sisera's army into a rout.

But Deborah is not the only driven woman in this story. After Sisera flees from Deborah and Barak's army with his tail between his legs, he encounters Jael, the wife of one of his allies. Perhaps seeing the way the wind is blowing, Jael invites Sisera into her tent, waits until he's asleep, and then hammers a tent peg though his skull (verse 21). Improvisational weaponry strikes again! And Jael doesn't just drive the peg into Sisera's head--she pounds it all the way through the head and into the ground. So Sisera's head is attached to the ground with basically a giant one-pronged staple.

Women do come across as better than men in this story. I don't think one sex is generally superior to the other, but I do welcome the progress Western society is making toward equity. Because as strong a character as Deborah is, accounts of admirable men in the Bible still vastly outnumber accounts of admirable women.

Judges 3

I don't know what this says about me--probably something unflattering--but I've always been fascinated with the various ways movie villains receive their comeuppances--the more violent, the better! You expect hard-edged action movie to showcase gory demises, but Disney movies, for all their G-rated family friendliness, often impress me with him much they can get away with.

(Spoiler alert for some Disney movies in this paragraph). In Oliver and Company, two dogs are electrocuted on subway tracks. In The Little Mermaid, the villainous Ursula is basically stabbed with a boat--the point coming out of her back--and, to add insult to injury, is struck by lightning, causing pieces of her tentacles to sink to the ocean below. In The Lion King, Scar is mauled alive, torn to pieces by hyenas. Tarzan features the corpses of Tarzan's parents, while Clayton ends up hanging himself, vines snapping his neck after he falls hundreds of feet. (Just in case you didn't get the point, the film clearly shows the shadow of the hanging body.) The MPAA evidently caught on by the time Atlantis: The Lost Empire rolled around, awarding a PG rating to a film in which the villain crystallizes, coming back to life only to be shattered to pieces by rotating blades. In fact, such a fate calls to mind the demise of the villain in the distinctly R-rated The Last Boy Scout, written by Shane Black and directed by Tony Scott--two filmmakers who probably couldn't make a G-rated film if they tried. And I could write an entire essay on The Hunchback of Notre Dame...

When I was a kid, of course I loved all these "awesome" death scenes. (Now that I'm an adult, nothing much has changed.) Someone gets hanged in a Disney movie? Cool! From what I learned in Sunday school, the Bible also seemed like a squeaky-clean book. Then, on my own, I managed to find the story of Ehud in Judges 3. There's some little bits and bobs about Moab and Ehud's left-handedness (so he can conceal his sword), but that pales compared to King Eglon's truly spectacular death scene. Ehud stabs him in the gut--OK, fine--but then, we get the lovely detail in verse 22: "his bowels discharged." Graphic violence and scatological "humor"--what more do you need in a story that will appeal to stereotypical young males? What's more, Ehud does not pull his sword out (maybe because he couldn't), so the king's "fat closes in over it." Quite a vivid picture that paints in your head, doesn't it?

Adding insult to death, Ehud locks the king's corpse in his chamber. The king's servants loiter around because they think, "He must be relieving himself in the inner room of his palace" (verse 24). Which tells me that Eglon had perhaps used his inner room as a personal outhouse before. I don't know; perhaps he found it more convenient to take care of business in the room he spent the most time in. Maybe that also contributed to his corpulence. Anyway, I have to say that I enjoyed revisiting this magnificently lurid story.

The final verse of this chapter tells the epic tale of Shamgar, "who struck down six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad" (verse 31). Well, if you don't have a sword, you make do with what you have. Reminds me of Hawkeye's unique method for taking out bad guys with his arms and legs restrained in the comic The Ultimates (see image below). Outrageously over-the-top, yes, but I'd expect nothing less from writer Mark Millar, the man who also gave us a 10-year-old girl who stabs villains in the groin and crushes them in car compactors.

Judges 2

I'm not a very spatially creative person. Whenever I got a new LEGO or K'Nex set, I always followed the instructions by the letter to build the model shown on the front of the box. Eventually, entropy caused the models to fall apart, scattering the pieces among various boxes. Only then would I use all the spare pieces to build something new, but my "creations" were never very complex. I think the most creative thing I managed to do was switch the heads, bodies, and legs of the minifigures, or create an impromptu "totem pole" with various minifigure heads stacked on top of each other.

Thinking outside the instruction booklet has its merits if we're talking about LEGO models or other toys, but in some cases, following the instructions is crucial. If you're driving a car and wanted to avoid hitting the car in front of you, you wouldn't want to slam down on the gas pedal or fiddle with that funny looking stick on the steering column in order to brake, now would you? God's instructions to the Israelites are very clear: Do not break the covenant with the Lord, or He will withdraw His assistance from them.

After Joshua's death, a sad cycle for the Israelites begins: They start worshipping Canaanite idols, God gets pissed and lets the Canaanites pummel Israel, the Israelites whinge, God sends a judge to save His people, the judge dies, and the Israelites restart the cycle by returning "to ways even more corrupt than those of their ancestors" (verse 19). Part of me wants to take the Israelites by their collective shoulders, shake them, and say, "Don't you know the miracles God has performed? Can't you see how much more sucky life is when you don't obey him and how much more awesome it is when you do?" But I know I wouldn't do such a thing, especially as I've never taken anyone by the shoulders and shaken them before.

The author does write that this generation of Israelites "knew neither the LORD nor what He had done for Israel" (verse 10). OK, maybe they hadn't actually witnessed many of God's previous miracles, and perhaps their parents share some of the blame for not providing the proper edification. But these Israelites are responsible for their own choices. They're grown adults. But if one is not diligent about maintaining one's relationship with God, the temptations of this world--ranging from immoral behavior to unproductive, time-wasting pursuits--can potentially prove triumphant.

Although God has not forsaken Israel, their disobedience prompts Him to play less of an active role in fighting Israel's battles: He will not longer drive out the Canaanites themselves (verse 21). Of course, I can't claim to know God's motives, but I do wonder if God has similar reasons for not being as overtly conspicuous today.

Judges 1

The annals of history are rife with empires or nations that flourished under a charismatic leader only to collapse upon that leader's death. Alexander the Great provides perhaps the most potent example. At its peak, Alexander's empire stretched from Macedonia and Egypt in the west all the way to the border of India in the east. But after his death, pffft--it all went out the window. (I'm simplifying, of course, but suffice to say that Greece, Egypt, Turkey, and Pakistan are obviously not under one empire today.)

Spoiler alert--Israel does survive from Joshua's death until the formation of the monarchy under Saul, but it's quite a tumultuous road. But even though Israel doesn't have one strong leader, that doesn't matter as much as their propensity to turn away from God--their heavenly leader.

Intriguingly, God still speaks to the Israelites, even without a mediator like Joshua or Moses. After they ask who should first fight the Canaanites, God says to them, "Judah shall go up; I have given the land into their hands" (verse 2). Did God, in fact, speak directly and audibly to all the people? Or did He speak through the priest? In any event, the Simeonites soon realize the consequences of living in a territory completely surrounded by Judah, as Judah strong-arms them into joining their campaign. OK, maybe "strong-arm" is too severe a term, as Judah does agree to help Simeon in turn, but I can't imagine the Simeonites were exactly in a position to refuse.

The people of Judah find the fantastically named King Adoni-Bezek and cut off his thumbs and big toes (verse 6). Just four little digits, but that basically means that he can't grasp anything or run very fast.  As the Israelites haven't really subjected anyone to this punishment before, it seems to have come out of nowhere art first. But then, we learn that old Adoni-Bezek had inflicted that punishment on 70 kings himself. A taste of his own medicine, as it were--a fact he resignedly acknowledges (verse 7). The king lives long enough to be brought back to Jerusalem, where he dies. The Bible is rather ominously mum about just how he died.

After a repeat of a story we already read in Joshua 15, the author rattles off a litany of failures for the Israelites--Canaanites they couldn't manage to conquer. This noncompliance with God's will, though seemingly innocuous, will soon manifest its insidious tentacles.

Joshua 24 and Book Conclusion

Chapter 24

As I might have mentioned before, I jog. As I'm getting ready for a half-marathon, I run three times a week and, for one of those days, I run between 7 and 14 miles. What I've found is that the first couple of miles are a bit of a slog--I'd probably do horribly at short-distance running any longer than a quarter of a mile. But after those first two miles, I get into a kind of groove that lasts for the next ten miles or so. Once I hit 11 miles, I start to feel truly fatigued, and at 12 or 13, wretchedness starts to set in. It's during those last one or two miles that I start thinking that perilous thought, "Please, God, let me get through this and I promise…" But I never finish because I know darn well that once I won't keep that promise, especially once I stop running, return home, and take a gloriously soothing shower.

The Israelites do promise to God and Joshua that they will serve and not forsake the God who has provided them protection, succor, and military victory. Joshua, in a bit of unfortunate prescience, says, "You are not able to serve the LORD" (verse 19). Indeed, the Israelites will soon prove capricious, turning away from God in favor of the hedonistic pleasure of the Canaanites.

Joshua even sets up a stone to remind the people of their covenant with God, a visible manifestation of and witness against their faith (verses 26-27). And you'd think that such a visual aid would help the Israelites remember, just like how (and I'm going to get a little geeky here for just a second) diagramming sentences can help one visualize the function of each word in that sentence. Granted, the vast majority of the Israelites didn't live at Shechem where the rock was, so they probably didn't get to gaze upon its rugged features a whole lot. Still, they have the vivid memories of God's miracles--shouldn't that be enough? Lest you think I'm standing on a pedestal judging the Israelites, I fully acknowledge that I too am often not as faithful to God as I could--and should--be.

Book Conclusion
Joshua is, in some ways, a paradoxical book. On the one hand, it proves the spectacular feats that are possible if one just trusts in God. On the other hand, most of those feats involve war and conquest, a messy business. Maybe that's the problem--the Israelites were all gung-ho when God told them to go fight. But when it came to the day-to-day minutiae of following all those decrees in the Book of the Law, well, maybe that didn't seem quite as exciting. Of course, that's just supposition on my part, and one should take it as nothing more than such.

I was also surprised that the author really only described the battles of Jericho and Ai; he whittled the bulk of the five years of fighting down to a couple of chapters. Indeed, much of the book comprises meticulous (and, in all candor, dull) descriptions of the borders of each tribe's land. In short, not really the stuff of good drama. Judges, though, will change all that--a book of strife, violence, and disobedience that becomes downright sordid at points.

Joshua 23

Interstellar, directed by Christopher Nolan, is an ambitious film, brimming with audiovisual magnificence and yet not without its flaws. Some reviewers criticize Nolan's films for lacking heart, but for all of Interstellar's spectacle, at its center lies a poignant tale of the love between a father (played by Matthew McConaughey) and a daughter (played by Mackenize Foy as a child and Jessica Chastain as an adult). McConaughey and Foy in particular adroitly portray their characters at their most heart-wrenching moments of separation. But the film proves decidedly less successful in its handling of love as expressed through Anne Hathaway's character. At one point in the film, Hathaway blusters about love being quantifiable. I don't necessarily disagree or agree with the content of the speech itself, but the actress, so charming in The Princess Diaries, delivers the speech in such a patronizingly haughty manner that it makes me wonder whether Nolan actually wants us to disagree with what she's saying. Certainly, any encomium on love shouldn't sound as pissy as Hathaway's does.

Which is all to say that love is a tricky subject to discuss. I'll try not to get too mushy with this post, but love is an inherently mushy subject. I myself have lots of loves. I love reading, film music, writing, theme parks, a whole bunch of movies, long walks on the beach…. Seriously, I do love certain people as well, and I suspect they know who they are. Although I'm no expert on love (as my non-existent girlfriend will attest), I do find that love for someone can paradoxically be both natural and something that one has to put effort into maintaining.

As Joshua is making his penultimate speech, touching many of the bases you'd expect of a godly leader, he also makes an intriguing statement: "So be very careful to love the LORD your God" (verse 11)-- a thought-provoking choice of words. One does have to be careful about maintaining a loving relationship, making sure that one does not take the object of one's affections for granted. The Israelites must take care to manifest their love for God by trusting in Him and obeying His commands.

Many of Joshua's other instructions and reminders echo those of Moses half a decade or so earlier. They must remember that all their victories come from God (verse 10). So used to victory are the Israelites that they indeed might be feeling bumptious. But as Joshua reminds them, if they turn away from God, God in turn will get ticked off at them (verses 15-16). You'd think that with a column of fire following them around--and the earth opening up to swallow recalcitrants from time to time--that the Israelites would find it hard to forget God's presence among them and the ineffable magnitude of His power. But alas….

Joshua 22

One of the most hilarious party games is basically a hybrid of telephone and Pictionary. Participants sit in a circle with a stack of index cards. On the first card, you write a phrase and then pass the stack to the next person. Next, you look at the phrase you've been given, move the card to the back of the pile, and use your masterful art skills to create a visual depiction of that phrase. You pass the stack again, look at the picture, and write what you think the picture is saying, and so on. The worse your drawing skills are and the more ridiculous the original phrases are, the more uproarious the game is. It's also fascinating to see the odd things that make it all the way through. One time I played, an original phrase was, "I'm walking my dog on a Segway through the neighborhood." The Segway, of all things, made it all the way to the end, but nothing else did.

Such is the lighter side of miscommunication, but it can have grievous effects as well. In Orson Scott Card's Speaker for the Dead, humans colonize a planet with friendly native inhabitants. However, the inhabitants start murdering and eviscerating the bodies of certain humans for no apparent reason. Only near the end of the book do the characters find out that such vivisection in the native culture is a sign of respect and in fact, is a cultural necessity.

No one is sliced and diced in Joshua 22, but the Israelites do avert a crisis by doing what many sometimes forget to do--communicate. The tribes to the east of the Jordan, after their commendable service in the conquest of Canaan, are released to their homes. But they immediately erect an altar on the border of the land, which makes the rest of the Israelites all hot and bothered. Although they're raring to attack, thinking that those crazy Easterners are now worshipping other gods, they send a coalition of elders and a priest first to see what the heck's going on.

The ambassadors make several good points. First, they note that if the Easterners spurn God, God will direct His anger toward all the Israelites (verse 18). Then, the elders welcome the Easterners to come join them (verse 19). Finally, they remind them of the Achan debacle (verse 20). Achan was one man whose sin led to the deaths of his family members. What, then, could the sin of two-and-a-half tribes bring down upon them?

But it's all a misunderstanding. The Easterners did not build the altar to worship other gods, but as a reminder that they are still Israelites and worship the same God (verse 27). The Westerners are "pleased" at this response (verse 30), though I think that's an awfully mild word. What about relieved, rapturous, or reassured? (And those are just words that start with "R.") Anyway, the Israelites were able to stave off a potentially ugly situation by talking to each other to understand the other side's point of view. Though maybe it would have been better if the Easterners had let the rest of Israel know their intentions before they built that altar.

Joshua 20-21

In Pixar's Toy Story 2, one of the antagonists is Al McWhiggin, collector of rare toys and proprietor of Al's Toy Barn. At one point in the film, he finds out that he has to "drive all the way to work--on a Saturday!"

Unless one works at a refinery, prison, or some other NIMBY, I'm guessing that most people would prefer not to drive too far to work. Unfortunately, it seems that many people with lower-paying jobs are often forced to live far away from work; those who have the least to spend often pay the most for transportation. The ancient Israelites had to walk everywhere; they didn't have planes, trains, and automobiles.  And when everyone had to walk everywhere, they often worked in or around their hometowns. Still, I'm sure some Israelites grumbled a bit if they had to walk further to get to their jobs. Although the Israelites divided up most of the land by lot, the Levites got special consideration. Even though they didn't get their own allotment of land, they were still granted choice cities to live in--cities surrounded by pasturelands (21:42).

We learned about the cities of refuge back in Numbers 35, and now it's time for the Israelites to actually pick these cities. I don't have much more to point out about the cities of refuge that I haven't already written, but I do want to note a detail in 20:4: Once the accused reaches the city of refuge, he is to stand at the city to state his "case before the elders of that city." If the accused arrived at night when all the elders were sawing logs, I guess he just had to stand there for hours until daybreak, hoping all the while that the avenger of blood wouldn't find him and beat him down.

It's like the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame: Quasimodo's mother, fleeing from the genocidal Judge Claude Frollo, knocks on the door of the Notre Dame cathedral, asking for sanctuary. However, the Archdeacon takes his sweet time answering the door, allowing Frollo to kill the mother. Fortunately, he does answer the door fast enough to keep Frollo from dropping baby Quasimodo down a well. How lovely of you, Disney.

Joshua 18-19

In school, as I've written before, I tended to be a procrastinator. Even when I was given several weeks to complete a big project or essay, I always waited until the last minute to start working on it. Non-research essays were especially dangerous, as I often wrote them the night before and still received grades that ranged from good to excellent. Of course, I look back on them now and hang my head in shame over how sloppy certain parts are, how facile some of the analysis is, and how much better they could have been had I actually spent more time on them. My writing process was eerily similar to that of Calvin's:

Now that I write stories of my own with no real deadlines, I'm running into another problem: Once I reach a major landmark, like completing the outline for a project or writing a bunch of meaty scenes, I tend to get too satisfied and want to relax for a day. Days turn into weeks, until I suddenly realize that I haven't worked on the story for a month. I wonder if the Israelites at this point had a similar attitude. They had just spent around five victorious yet strenuous years conquering Canaan; perhaps now they just wanted to kick back and relax. And yet Joshua has to mildly scold them, reminding them that their task isn't over yet: "How long will you wait before you begin to take possession of the land that the LORD, the God of your ancestors, has given you?" (18:3). He then tells three men from each tribe to get their rears in gear, survey the land, and write an essay on their findings so that the Israelites can allot territory to each tribe.

And just to make sure that they don't forget, Joshua repeats his instructions (18:6, 8). Understandable; I know I tend to not process spoken words very well if my attention is focused elsewhere.

The dividing of the land provides two notes of interest. First, Simeon's territory is literally surrounded by Judah's--just like how Lesotho is plopped down right in the middle of South Africa. The Simeonites had to have great trust in the people of Judah--they had to travel through Judah to reach any location outside their own territory. Not an ideal situation, to say the least.

Second, the author makes a parenthetical statement presaging the plight of the Danites--they actually end up losing their territory. Not to worry, though; they take up new digs in Leshem--after conquering it, of course (19:47). The conquering just never ends, does it?

Joshua 16-17

I've written about the awesomeness of fantasy author Brandon Sanderson before; although his prose is merely functional, his plots, character development, and magic systems are wonders to behold. In The Way of Kings, a massive tome of 1000 pages, the story begins with the death of the king of Alethkar. Taking responsibility for the assassination are a group of people called the Parshendi, a coalition of whom had just entered the kingdom to ostensibly make a peace treaty. The Parshendi bear striking similarities to parshmen, beings whom the people of Alethkar basically use as slaves. The parshmen are physically strong yet subservient, seeming to have no desires of their own. But the assassination of the king by the Parshendi raises a troubling question: could the parshmen potentially rise up and subjugate the people of Alethkar?

Slaves (or people under slave-like conditions) rising up against their masters is a common theme of storytelling; A Bug's Life and Spartacus are two other examples that come immediately to mind. These two chapters of Joshua note two instances of the Israelites failing to "dislodge" Canaanites, instead subjecting them to forced labor (16:10, 17:13). Now, we know that Israel didn't fall because of slave revolt; they fell to the outside forces of the Assyrians and the Babylonians. And yet, as the subsequent books of the Bible will reveal, Israel all too often turned away from God. Some of that, no doubt, was because of their own blockheadedness, but I can't help wondering if their Canaanite slaves inveigled themselves and their pagan beliefs into the Israelites' hearts. Sure, the Assyrians and Babylonians defeated Israel. But was their task made easier from a rotting of Israel from within?

This reminds me of the old chestnut, "A man is known by the company keeps." (To which Evan Esar added his own waggish addendum: "A man is known by the company he keeps, but a woman is known by the company she keeps waiting.") We soon find ourselves adapting at least some of the attitudes of those whom we surround ourselves with. While I don't think it's good for Christians to limit their company to just other Christians, a drug addict wishing to recover shouldn't just hang around other junkies.

After the author describes the territory allotted to Manasseh, he relates a little anecdote showing that the Manassites could be just a little petulant--and lazy. After they complain about receiving such a small allotment relative to their size, Joshua says that they can clear out the forests of the "Perizzites and Rephaites" (17:11). Clearly, the Manassites wanted Joshua to give them land allotted to another tribe, for they snivel about iron chariots and such. To his credit, Joshua refuses to become a doormat, repeating his offer and pretty much saying, "You say you have a lot of people? Well, then you should have no problem clearing out the forests and driving out the Canaanites in their big, scary chariots. Grow some backbone already!" Maybe he didn't say that last part, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was thinking it.

Joshua 14-15

The Olympics have been over for a while now (don't you just love the timeliness of these posts?), but one quality the vast majority of the athletes have in common is their youth. The human body just naturally peaks at a certain age, after which it's all downhill, as they say--the angle may be shallow or precipitous, but it goes downward all the same. That's not to spurn the truly amazing feats of certain older athletes, but they probably would be even better if their bodies were younger.

Of course, while superior physicality is one quality that those in their salad days enjoy, it's not the be-all and end-all. With age comes experience and, we hope, wisdom. (Or at least more wisdom compared to one's youth.) Caleb is the only other Israelite besides Joshua who was an adult during the exodus from Egypt; he has seen the miracles that God has wrought and has endured all 40 years of the wilderness wanderings. You could say that he has a bit of experience and, as his conviction to trust in God shows, wisdom. And yet at 85 years old, he's just as spry as anyone, "vigorous to go out to battle" (14:11). Sure, some of the younger Israelites might outmatch him physically, but passion and motivation go a long way. Keep in mind, too, that Caleb was 40 years old when he originally surveyed the Promised Land, which would have made him 80 when the Israelites started their five-year campaign to conquer Canaan. I doubt many armies today would accept an 80-year-old as an active soldier.

Amidst all the administrative land allotments, we do get a little anecdote in chapter 15: Caleb promises the hand of his daughter, Aksah, (who I suppose could have been anywhere between something-teen and 60 years old) "to the man who attacks and captures Kiriath Sepher" (15:16). Turns out his nephew Othniel accomplishes the deed. But that's not all. Aksah then asks her Uncle Caleb for the "upper and lower springs" of Negev (15:19), which Caleb readily grants. Maybe I'm reading too much into the situation, but Aksah sure seems like an enterprising individual. Not only will she have access to water, that most precious resource, but she could also potentially charge passerby to use those springs.

Chapter 15 ends with a note that the Israelites were not able to "dislodge the Jebusites" (15:63). (I just imagine the Jebusites holed up in a literal cozy hunting lodge, complete with bearskin rugs and a roaring fireplace.) The author gives no reason, which makes any possible hypothesis based on this verse mere supposition. Were there just too many Jebusites? Were they awesome warriors? Did the Israelites become too friendly with them? In any case, the Jebusites lived in a little city named Jerusalem, which I'm sure will be important later on….

Joshua 12-13

From the viewpoint of my comfy chair as I read the Bible, it seems that Joshua and the Israelites subjugated much of Canaan in quite a short time. After all, it's only been a few chapters since their first battle against Jericho in chapter 6. The debacle at Ai provided a bit of a setback, but it was only the precursor to resounding victory after resounding victory. Therefore, it comes as a bit of a surprise when we see that Joshua is now a "very old" man (13:1). In the days before cars and airplanes, fighting a campaign over an area the size of Canaan took a considerable amount of time.

And although Joshua was faithful to God and enjoyed the fruits of triumph, his life was far from cushy. After 40 years of wandering in the desert, he spent the rest of his life fighting in battles. So maybe he didn't get to enjoy sitting back in a lawn chair drinking a margarita with a paper umbrella perched on top. But through his faithfulness to and trust in God, he was able to take part in God's overarching plan for His people.

Sometimes (and pardon me if I get too existential here) I wonder whether anything I do makes a difference and to what extent I should care if it does or not. I'd be lying if I said that I used all my energy, resources, and talent selflessly--when I focus on enjoying myself, I'm not really benefitting anyone else, except the makers of whatever movie I'm watching, the author of the book I'm reading, or the composer of the music I'm listening to. I do understand that it's OK to enjoy leisure pursuits, especially if it recharges my batteries, but that shouldn't be my goal. I get the inkling that God's not calling me to conquer a heathen country after wandering for 40 years in the desert, but I should still strive to further God's plan--and realize just how exciting such an opportunity is.

Joshua certainly did his part, conquering 31 kings (12:9-24). I especially like how the author puts "one" after each king, as if we can't already tell that one person rarely counts as more than one person. But after all that, God tells Joshua that there are still wide swaths of land to conquer. God even says that He will drive out some of the inhabitants Himself (13:6)--if you saw a giant column of flame looming down on you, I'm sure you'd scurry away in a hurry. Joshua's story may be nearing its end, but the story of Israel, the nation of God's chosen people, is just beginning.

On a final note, the idea of having done so much but then finding out you still have a long ways to go reminds me of a scene from The Muppets. Basically, the Muppets need to raise $10 million to buy back the Muppet Theater from Chris Cooper, so they decide to put on a telethon. They're almost there, but Cooper tries to stop them, after which this scene happens. (Don't watch if you don't want it spoiled.)

Joshua 11

If the battle at Ai was like the Battle of the Five Armies from The Hobbit, the battle that opens Joshua 11 is like the Battle of the Pelennor Fields from The Return of the King. OK, that's actually not that great of an analogy, because the Battle of Pelennor Fields basically involved the bad guys laying siege to the good guys' city, while in this chapter, the Israelites army takes "a huge army, as numerous as the sand on the seashore" (verse 4) by surprise, completely decimating it. And while most of the battles in The Lord of the Rings were struggles (as all good fictional battles should be), the Israelites here are basically continuing their inexorable steamrolling of the Canaanite city-states.

While the author doesn't really describe the nitty-gritty of the battles--probably because they were all so one-sided--he or she does include an interesting detail: Joshua hamstrings the horses of the opposing armies. Basically, if you cut the tendon near a horse's ankle in just the right place, you can make that horse lame in that leg. In fact, one of the Sherlock Holmes stories, Silver Blaze, features a rogue whose nefarious plot hinges on that very technique. Apparently, if one uses just the right kind of knife and makes just the right kind of cut, one can disable the horse with nary a perceptible trace. But of course, it's a Sherlock Holmes story, so the venerable detective sniffs out the villainy. (However, even though Sherlock Holmes nearly always figures out the mystery, there are a handful of stories where he finds out too late or fails to actually catch the criminal once identifying him--or her.)

Another intriguing quirk about these battles is that while the Israelites burn most of the cities, they do "not burn any of the cities built on the mounds--except Hazor" (verse 13). The author explains in an aside in verse 10 that Hazor is essentially the chief city in the area, but such is the relentless dominance of the Israelite army that this otherwise important factoid becomes little more than a footnote. But why did the Israelites not burn any of the other cities built on mounds? Did they think it was too dangerous to climb the mounds with torches in their hands?

All these battles take up a paltry 23 verses, but the author asserts that "Joshua waged war against all these kings for a very long time" (verse 18)--about five years, as we'll learn in a few chapters. Yes, the Israelites enjoyed victory after victory, but war is war, a tautology sometimes pushed to the wayside in impersonal accounts of battle. After it's all over, the author even uses personification to accentuate the toll of battle: "Then the land had rest from war" (verse 23).

Finally, I want to make return to the question I posited in the last post about whether God was OK with the Gibeonites using deceit to become subservient to the Israelites. Verse 20 says that God "hardened the hearts" of the Canaanites who rose up against the Israelites, which of course led to this succession of battles. Does this mean that He did not harden the hearts of the Gibeonites, who respected and feared God enough to surrender to His chosen people?