Thomas J Parlette
“Under the Palm of Deborah”
Judges 4: 1-7
11/19/23
We don’t hear much from the book of Judges. In fact, this is the only time anything from Judges makes it into our lectionary. Judges begins with Joshua and the conquest of Judah and documents a period of time when a variety of leaders led Israel against their enemies.
Judges is actually not a great name for this book for the “judges” referred to are not legal authorities, they are not judges that sit in a courtroom, with black robes and gavels making decisions on points of law. They are instead advisors, counselors, and sometimes military strategists who lead Israel against their foes.
After Moses and Joshua, the Israelites increasingly turned away from God and turned instead to idols and other Gods. The book of Judges documents the temptations and mis-steps that the Israelites made. Judges is one of those books that is filled with violent stories of war and excessive violence. Along with Joshua, this is one of those books that cause people to say things like:
“Let’s not study the Old Testament. There’s too much violence and killing.”
Or, “I just don’t like the Old Testament. God is so wrathful and vengeful. I prefer the New Testament where God is love.”
Or even, “How could God tell the Israelites to kill the Canaanites and all those other people? Didn’t Jesus tell us to love our enemies, not kill them.”
That’s probably why we only hear from the book of Judges once in our three-year cycle. We tend to focus our attention on the New Testament, especially the Gospels.
But we mustn’t forget that there is much more to our Bibles than Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and the letters of Paul. Even a casual reader soon realizes that the “Good Book” is really an eclectic collection of laws, letters, short stories, historical biography, poetry and prophecy. Even though it was written by many different people, with many different viewpoints over the course of hundreds of years, the Bible nevertheless hangs together as the story of God and Humanity.
But since there are so many different kinds of stories in the Bible, different passages place different demands on us as listeners and interpreters. Some passages, for example, are just plain difficult to understand. Some stories just sit there on the page with their arms folded, lips tightly sealed, staring off into the distance while we try to figure out what they mean.
Jesus putting that curse on an innocent fig tree – that’s a difficult story.
Or the one in 2nd Kings about the bears mauling 42 youngsters because they made fun of Elisha’s receding hairline – that’s a tough one. I guarantee you won’t be hearing a children’s sermon on that one anytime soon.
Other texts, though, place a burden not so much on our ability to understand as they do on our ability to carry them out. We understand well enough, but living by them is another story. Mark Twain once said that what troubled him about the Bible was not what he failed to understand, but rather what he understood quite clearly and yet failed to accomplish. For instance, Jesus said, “If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other as well…” Have you ever tried to really out those words? It’s tough. The burden of such a passage is more in trying to follow the instructions than in figuring them out.
Now there’s probably a third category here as well. There are some passages which place a burden on our ability to accept them. It isn’t a question of not understanding or not being able to follow through. The difficulty lies in the fact that, when you get right down to it, we simply don’t like the text. Such is the case with this story today. For whatever reason, the lectionary leaves off rather abruptly at the seventh verse. However, the story itself doesn’t conclude there, and to get a real sense of what a scandalous passage this is, one needs to read a bit further.
Curiously enough, the story actually begins in a somewhat understated, almost casual, matter of fact fashion: “The Israelites again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord. So the Lord sold them into the hand of King Jabin of Cannan, where the commander of the army was Sisera.”
At the time, “Deborah was judging Israel,” from under the palm that was named for her. Deborah was Israel’s only female judge, but it was hardly a token appointment. Like an ancient E.F. Hutton, when Deborah spoke – people listened. And from all accounts, she was forceful, but fair. She was courageous, and compassionate. She favored no one and was attentive to everyone.
One day, Deborah summons Barak, Israel’s military leader, and insists that he start preparing for war against the mighty Canaanites. At first, Barak can hardly believe what he is hearing. After all, in the past, the Canaanite army, led by Jabin, had proven to be a rather powerful enemy – possessing 900 iron chariots. And they had history on their side – they had already been oppressing Israel for some 20 years.
For awhile, Barak stands there with a puzzled squint, and when he finally does manage to stammer out a few words, they are punctuated with half-hearted reluctance: “If you will go with me, I will go – but if you won’t go, I’m not going.” Deborah agrees to go, but feels it’s only fair to warn him in advance that the bragging rights for this battle are not to be his. “The road on which you are going will not lead to your glory, for the Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman.
A-HA! We of course assume that that woman will be Deborah herself. But as the battle draws to a close, with the Israelites victorious, we see Sisera running for the hills, seemingly to safety, leaving Deborah behind. Oh well, so much far prophecy.
That night, however, Sisera meets a woman named Jael, just before he crosses the border. He accepts her hospitality and stays for food and drink and spends the night. But as Sisera sleeps, Jael creeps into his tent and kills him by putting a tent stake through his temple.
Upon hearing the news, Deborah is as pleased as she can be, her predictions have come true. While she doesn’t exactly dance on Sisera’s grave, she does break out into a triumphant 31 verse song, glorifying the whole gruesome story.
Now, I know it isn’t easy to be fond of a text like this. It’s a strange story. What makes it especially difficult is that we are called to accept the kind of God who would instigate a story like this.
But then again, this isn’t the first time God has done something surprising, something we don’t anticipate. In fact, expecting the unexpected seems to be a common refrain in the story line of scripture.
Who could have predicted what would happen to Abraham and Sarah. A couple in their golden years would have their wishes fulfilled with the arrival of their first child. Or, how about Jacob, a juvenile delinquent who grew up into a two-bit con man and known liar who would be chosen and blessed by God. Or, the great Moses, the stuttering fugitive, wanted for murder in Egypt, who would be chosen to lead the Hebrew people out of bondage and right to the edge of the Promised Land.
And who have guessed that the Son of God would be born out of wedlock to a teenage mother. Nowadays, Mary would probably end up on daytime TV as evidence of “today’s troubled teens.”
God is always doing something surprising, something unexpected. Working through people no one would choose, doing things no one could predict. And maybe that’s the point. After all, if we knew in advance what God would do, if we could calculate God’s goodness or deduce God’s plans – it wouldn’t be grace. Grace is supposed to be a surprise.
The well-known preacher, Fred Craddock, enjoys sharing the story of the time he returned to the little church of his childhood. He had not visited there for years and walking into the sanctuary, he was surprised to see that they had purchased new stained glass windows. Inscribed at the bottom of each was the name of the donor – but to his dismay, Craddock was not familiar with any of them.
“You must’ve had a good many people join this congregation since I was a boy,” he remarked to a woman after the worship service, “because I don’t recognize a single name.”
“Oh those people aren’t members here,” she said. “This town hasn’t grown a bit, and for that matter, neither has our church.”
“Then how did you get these beautiful windows?”
“Well that’s kind of an interesting story. You see they were made by an Italian company for a church in St. Louis. Unfortunately, when they arrived, none of them fit. The company apologized of course, and said they would make new windows. But they were too expensive to ship back, so the company told the church in St. Louis to sell them wherever they could. We bought the windows from that church.”
“But don’t you want to remove these names?”
“Well, we thought about that. We’re just a little church you know. Not many of us here anymore, and never any new people. So we finally decided it was important for us to remember all those folks we’ll never meet, through whom the Lord is working in ways we’ll never know. And it’s nice to have a few new names around here at least. So, I guess, in a way, we have grown a bit.”
A nice surprise indeed, when God works through people we’ll never meet to accomplish God’s plans for the church. J. Clinton McCann has written in his commentary on Judges that the reason we recount these stories, even the gory, unsettling ones, is that they serve as a warning grounded in hope. The book of Judges shows that when we do not worship and serve God, the results are destructive and ultimately deadly. But the point is that God is faithful and full of grace even when we are unfaithful.
Jesus spoke of the surprising nature of grace, and ultimately it’s value when he told about finding a buried treasure, or a pearl of great value, and going right to the nearest ATM machine to withdraw all your money and purchase it. God’s grace is unpredictable and surprising. And ultimately of great value.
That’s the way God’s grace works. Being unpredictable is part of the gift. It’s always meant to be surprising, because grace is never something we get on our own – grace is always freely given. Working at grace is like trying to fall in love – more often you can’t make it happen, it just happens. We can’t predict it any more than we can deserve it. We don’t expect it, we experience it. Small wonder that God’s ways sometimes appear so strange and incomprehensible. How could they be otherwise? After all, they are God’s ways, not ours.
I’ll go with you,” Deborah tells Barak, “but the glory of this day shall not be yours.” Expect the unexpected.
I admit, it’s not easy to like a story like this. But rather than asking whether we can live with a God who acts in such ways, perhaps a better question might be – Can any of us really afford to live without such a God. A God who remains faithful, even when we turn away. A God who gives us grace in such surprising and unexpected ways.
May God be praised. Amen.
