1 Samuel 6

Every non-vegetarian gastronome the world round has an opinion on what meat tastes the most scrumptious. John Doe might insist that nothing reaches the empyrean heights of a bone-in rib eye, while Jane Smith might aver that rack of lamb is nothing less than a taste of heaven. But I'm guessing that few foodies would claim the lowly gallus gallus domesticus--known as the chicken to common folk like you and me--as their favorite meat. I mean, when you go to an all-you-can-eat Korean barbecue, you don't exactly rush out to load up your plate with the chicken, do you?

And yet, I'm rather fond of chicken and think that it's the most consistently tasty meat. I've been to restaurants that have served poor beef, pork, and turkey, but it takes the rare culinary talents of someone like me to truly screw up cooking chicken. And while I dig a good burger, I have to say that a chicken sandwich from Chick-fil-A is sometimes even more appealing. I was introduced to Chick-fil-A rather late in life, which is probably good because their food is a good deal more expensive than the perfectly decent McChicken from McDonald's. Anyway, I often find myself agreeing with that famous Chick-fil-A advertising campaign that featured cows telling the public to "Eat Mor Chickin."

I'm going to take a wild guess and say that, if the Philistine cows in this chapter could talk, they probably would have begged the Israelites to "Eat Mor Chickin" as well. Yes, Eli's life kind of ended up sucking, but what about these cows? First, they're torn from their beloved calves (verse 10), watching as their innocent children are imprisoned before their very eyes. Truly, a tableau to rival the most tear-jerking parent/child separation scene in some heartrending Asian drama. Then, the wretched ruminants are hitched to a heavy cart laden with, among other things, gold rats and tumors (verse 11) and left to wander in the wilderness, which is probably rife with velociraptors (because don't you know? Humans and dinosaurs co-existed.) Is it really that surprising that the poor beasts are "lowing all the way" (verse 12)? But at long last--here come some rapturous humans, rejoicing at the cows' arrival (verse 13)! Has the creatures' luck finally changed? Nope--the beleaguered bovines are promptly barbecued, their edible body parts subsequently stuffed down the maws of the happy humans (verse 14).

OK, I know the real point of this chapter is that the ark gets returned to the Israel--no thanks to the Israelites, some of whom promptly take leave of their brains, look into the ark ("It's so beautiful!"), and perish (verse 19). We can never take God for granted--not when things are going well, and not when things are going wrong. And the other moral of the story is don't be a cow if you can help it. Finally consider this: 1 Samuel 6 relates the sorry tale of a pair of unfortunate cows. Chick-fil-A, the champion of bovine rights, is owned by Christians. It all makes sense!

1 Samuel 5

I know I've mentioned Raiders of the Lost Ark before, but it's such a stellar movie that my mind just can't help jumping to it whenever I think of the ark of the covenant. Anyway, according to Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Lawrence Kasdan, if the ark is pissed off at you, it will [spoiler alert] send bolts of light through your midsection, suck out the innards from your head, melt your face off, or make your head explode [end of spoilers]. (And yes, this movie is rated PG. So if your child could handle Frozen, she'll love Raiders of the Lost Ark!) Nothing quite so visually spectacular happens in the Bible, at least not anything that was recorded. Instead, we get tumors (verses 6, 9) and an idol falling down flat on its face and shattering its extremities (verse 4).

I don't know about you, but when I hear the word "idol," I think of J-pop and K-pop idols, i.e., normal looking young men and women who decide to undergo plastic surgery, wear strata of makeup that would make Yosemite's El Capitan blush, and forgo consuming anything resembling food--all so that they can spaz around a stage while wearing extravagant items that might, in some other dimension, pass as clothing. And if that's not enough, they also enjoy the distinct pleasure of having their faces displayed in tiny boxes in the corner of a TV screen as they pretend to react to whatever the harebrained TV host is doing at that moment. But the point is that many people (mostly Asians, because Asians are weird--I would know; I'm one myself) obsess over these idols, look up to them, and maybe even worship them. (Hey, I like some idols too. They make me laugh.)

It all seems rather silly, and I suspect many K-pop or J-pop groupies know this. But I sometimes ask myself why I'm not as passionate for God as I am about my other pastimes. And these pastimes, just like the idols, are not beyond reproach. Lest we forget all the chicanery that goes into the manufacture of an idol....

Of course, no matter what one thinks of Asian "idols," no one wants to see one of them shatter his or her extremities. But seeing an idol fall flat on his or her face? Well, that would be no more or less silly--or entertaining--than the typical behavior of such illustrious personages.

1 Samuel 4

Imagine, for a moment, that you're reposing in your La-Z-Boy by the side of the road. (And why are you outside? Because you're in a freaking La-Z-Boy, and why shouldn't you be on the side of the road?) So maybe you're not totally relaxed because, well, your recalcitrant sons (perfect scoundrels, the both of them) employed attrition to convince you to let them take your McLaren P1 for a joyride through the suburbs. So while you're reclining and enjoying the smell of leaking propane from your idiot neighbor who can't operate a simple gas grill, you see the mailman run up to you, distraught. (Wait, you can't actually see him because you're blind. Did I forget to mention that? You're blind. And corpulent.) So you hear the mailman run up to you (and you know he's the mailman because you can "hear" the blue uniform he's wearing--hey, as long as this is a fantasy, why not make you a portly, 98-year-old Daredevil?), and he delivers the news you've been dreading.

Your McLaren has been stolen.

And by the way, your sons have been killed as well, but let's worry about that later because your McLaren has been stolen! Flabbergasted and grieved beyond belief, you fall off the back of your La-Z-Boy and break your neck.

The end.

Eli's life circumstances are truly pitiful, but his actual death plays like some black comedy. Actually, and I'm sure I'm not the first one to mention this, it reminds me of the last scene of The Godfather Part III. [Mild spoilers ahead, but it doesn't really matter because there's nothing really in the third Godfather movie worth spoiling.] After two epic, complex, incredible films (and one substandard one), the Godfather saga comes to an ignominious close when one of the characters dies and falls off his chair.

The serious point to come away with from this chapter is that one shouldn't try to manipulate God for one's own ends--the Israelites thought that merely bringing the ark of the covenant into battle would ensure them God's support and, more importantly from their point of view, victory. But nope--their first battle without the ark costs them 4,000 (verse 2). When they bring the ark, they lose a whopping 30,000 (verse 10). Oops.

Finally, I want to note that chapter 4 boasts not one but two fantastic names: Ebenezer (verse 1) and Ichabod (verse 21). No, I don't have anything more profound to say than that.

1 Samuel 3

All humans dream while sleeping. (I read it on the Internet, so it must be true.) However, we don't always remember our dreams--and sometimes when we do, the memory of them fades within minutes of waking up. When I was a youngling, I had many vivid dreams. I wrote about my street sweeper nightmare back in Genesis 40, but I also had many pleasant dreams as well--traveling through futuristic cities in elevator-like conveyances, befriending a dragon-like being, and, of course, dreams about going to Disneyland or some other wondrous location that always end just before I actually get there. But I no longer seem to remember my dreams much anymore; the concept of dreaming fills me with a wistful longing--it's as if part of me can't believe that I ever dreamed. And then two seconds later, I get distracted and think about something else.

The author of 1 Samuel asserts, "In those days the word of the LORD was rare; there were not many visions" (verse 1). I imagine the Israelites during the time of Eli also wondered--did God ever really talk to people so overtly, or were those just stories? From that perspective, it's understandable that it took Eli three times to realize that God was calling Samuel. On the other hand, who did Eli think was calling Samuel? Mr. Ed the talking horse? If I had been Eli, I would definitely be suspicious about some voice calling for one of my apprentices. What if it had been some nefarious Pied Piper of Shiloh fixing to lure Samuel into the middle of some magic mountain? (I myself would have no interest in a magic mountain unless it has the requisite number of flags.)

Fortunately, God, not some nefarious, ostentatiously dressed flautist, is the one calling Samuel. An unfortunately for the beleaguered Eli, God's message to Samuel is pretty much the same one that the holy messenger delivered to Eli last chapter. Samuel is understandably hesitant about relaying the message to Eli, but to his credit, Eli doesn't fly into a rage, or even whine. He accepts God's will without protest (verse 18). Eli may have screwed up as a parent, but at least he recognizes his mistakes. But at this point, the poor man can't do anything about it.

1 Samuel 2

If some quack psychic (are there any other kind?) read the dregs of my toothpaste spittle (or whatever the heck it is those charlatans do) and proclaimed, "This person is a strapping athlete of great renown," the cachinnations of those who know me would be long and loud. And I would not hesitate to join in their mirth. I never had any talent for sports, never had any desire to increase my muscle mass, and wasn't exactly the biggest fan of P.E. (Except in elementary school when we got to play with the parachute.) And yet somehow, I've found that I'm a bit of a runner. About a week ago, I ran in a half-marathon--my fourth. And partway through, I encountered the gremlin that makes all runners shudder with fear--the dreaded leg cramp. Fortunately, it didn't take me too much time to get over it.

Needless to say, I didn't get a personal best. But for the last quarter mile or so of the race, I was able to do what I've never done at the end of any of my previous half-marathons--sprint. I still had energy to spare. I realize that this situation isn't quite what Hannah had in mind in verse 4 of her prayer: "but those who stumbled are armed with strength." (For one, my sprinting at the end of the race shows that I didn't pace myself correctly.) But when I "stumbled" during the race, you can bet your top, middle, and bottom dollar that I called on God to get me through. And from there, I relied on His help to not just finish, but finish strong.

Eli's sons, on the other hand, aren't really finishing much of anything in this chapter (OK, with the exception of the sacrificial meat they're dishonestly procuring). Instead, they themselves are about to be finished. I'm struggling to think of some fancy adjective that most befits Eli's sons, but I can't come up with anything better than wrong. Swindling meat from the sacrificial offering? Wrong! Browbeating offerers of said sacrifices? Wrong! Getting it on "with the women who served at the entrance to the tent of meeting" (verse 22)? Wrong! (Now I'm starting to sound like...well, I'll refrain from entering the mire of contemporary politics.)

Basically, Eli's sons are abusing their positions of privilege and power. Nothing new and, unfortunately, not something that's going to go away anytime soon. But what makes it worse is that Eli's sons are supposed to be doing God's work. Not just the work of a business or a country. The work of God. Yes, it's easy for me to condemn them, and yes, it sucks to be Eli. But the reprimands of verses 27-36 give me pause: As a follower of Christ, I should be doing His work. Am I abusing my position if I choose to withhold God's love from others just because I don't feel like showing it? Just as I allowed God to help me through the final leg of the half-marathon, I also must allow God to perform His work in and through me. Otherwise, I'll find myself stalled with not a leg cramp but with a life cramp. (Though just what form a life cramp takes, I have no idea. Maybe it means having to make a living as a quack psychic.)

1 Samuel 1

To someone who's never been to a Disney park before, I imagine that Disneyland in California and Walt Disney World in Florida seem like similar places. Although some of the rides (which Disney calls "attractions") are similar or even identical, the two resorts are, in fact, very different places. The tl;dr is that Disneyland is tiny and Disney World, despite having only two more Disney parks that Disneyland, is gargantuan. (Shameless plug: Read my voluble thoughts on Disney World here.) When Walt Disney planned Disney World, he secretly bought up acres of land in Florida (an area the size of San Francisco) to surround his idyllic kingdom (never mind the crocodiles and mosquitos). Because once Disneyland opened, suddenly, all these seedy hotels, restaurants, and tourist traps sprung up around it.  The area got just a little more respectable when the second park, California Adventure, opened up in 2001, but the Disneyland Resort is still a fantastical theme park surrounded by chain restaurants and hotels. And because fast food chains can become magnets for drunks and reprobates, I imagine it's not exactly a rare sight to see a hammered fellow ambling outside the bag-check to the Happiest Place on Earth.

Unlike Disney parks, God's temple really is a reverent edifice worthy of respect. And yet here at the tail end of the period of the judges, it's apparently not an uncommon for drunks to wander into the Lord's house. So when Hannah fervently and earnestly prays for God to give her a son, the priest Eli sees her lips moving and thinks that she's just another one of those irksome inebriates. Notably, though, he doesn't ask her to leave; he just tells her to put away her wine (verse 14).

God does open Hannah's womb, which is interesting because God was the one who closed it in the first place (verse 6). Why He did so, spurring Hannah's husband's other wife (boy, that sounds odd) to provoke her for years and years to the point of tears (verse 7), I'm not sure. Maybe it was timing--He allowed Samuel to be born when he was so that he could help guide Israel in establishing its monarchy. And Eli's little misunderstanding was the first hint of a new age in Israel's history, an age that would bring the nation to the height of its power. Not that it was a perfect age, but a period in Israel's history that yielded the author of Psalm 23 couldn't have been all that bad.

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.