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.