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?