What Have We Become?

Passage: Judges 19

In chapter 18 the author of Judges introduced the phrase, “In those days Israel had no king.” This becomes a steady refrain throughout the remaining chapters of the book. The phrase serves two purposes. First, it serves to foreshadow the next phase in the life of God’s people: the Monarchic period, in which Israel is ruled by a procession of kings. Second, it draws the reader’s attention to the fact that no one is watching over Israel. In the absence of a king – or more properly, The King – life in Israel spirals out of control.

The gravity of Israel’s need for a shepherd is brought to the fore in Judges 19. The narrator tells this story in such a matter-of-fact tone that it’s easy to miss the foreboding nature of certain facts. The story begins with an introduction that wouldn’t be out of place in a film by Alfred Hitchcock or Wes Craven. A couple has had a fight. She goes to stay with her father. Her partner arrives the next day to talk her into coming back home. When he shows up, the woman’s father welcomes him, and the mission turns into a five-day visit. The scene is fairly innocuous.

But already we should note some things that are out of place. First, the man in question is a Levite – part of a class of people intended to be extra-holy servants of God. Second, The woman is not his wife. She’s his concubine. Their relationship is one of convenience, devoid of the commitment and sanctity of marriage. Third, the father, as host, imposes on his guests to stay beyond what’s expected, or comfortable, for them. He’s having a good time. He ignores his guests’ express desire to leave. According to custom, the guests cannot refuse his demand that they stay. They’re stuck, and end up leaving, in desperation, at a less-than-ideal time.

The Levite and his concubine finally extricate themselves at dusk on the fifth day of their visit. They can’t possibly make it home by nightfall, and must find a place to stay because it isn’t safe to travel at night. They opt not to stay in Jebus, the first town they encounter, because it’s inhabited by Gentiles. Too risky – those people can’t be trusted. They journey on to Gibeah, inhabited by Israelites of the tribe of Benjamin. Surely they’ll be welcome here. They wait in the town square, hoping someone will invite them in. Finally an old man shows up. He’s a migrant worker from Ephraim, on his way home from the fields. He says, “What are you doing here? It’s not safe in the town square after dark. Come, you can stay at my house.”

Again, nothing has happened, but much is wrong with this picture. First, there shouldn’t be a town in Israel that is unsafe for Israelites. The fact that these Israelites’ forebears disobeyed God and allowed their enemies to maintain residence in the land has contributed in part to the current problem. Second, no Israelite traveler should be left to fend for himself in any Israelite town. God’s law demands that his people treat any member of the nation as family – even strangers traveling from some other part of the country. Third, the fact that it is a foreigner who finally welcomes the Levite and his concubine in, and his level of alarm that they’re out in the open, implies that something is terribly wrong with the Benjamite inhabitants of the town.

This proves to be the case. No sooner have the travelers settled in for the night than there’s a knock at the door. A mob of local men has gathered outside. They demand that the foreigner open his doors and allow them to have their way with his Levite guest. The man refuses, and offers his virgin daughter and the concubine instead. The townsfolk are only interested in the man. In desperation the Levite tosses his girlfriend out to the mob.

In a sense this scene is the flashpoint of the entire book. This is the point at which the reader is confronted with the extent to which God’s people have been corrupted. The scene at the foreigner’s door is intentionally reminiscent of Lot’s exchange with the men of Sodom and Gomorrah. The difference is that the mob outside aren’t pagans. They’re the people of God. Yet here they are demanding to do the unthinkable to a man of their race. Equally reprehensible is the Levite’s response. To save his own skin he sacrifices a woman who, it becomes clear, he’s been using all along. The reference to Sodom and Gomorrah underscores the mind-numbing reality: Israel has become worse than the worst example of human depravity in recorded history. They have not only failed to live as God’s people, they have failed to live as people. Even the generally accepted rules of human decency have fallen by the wayside in this place.

In a moment of irony it is the Levite himself who sounds the alarm to the rest of Israel. The means of his communication is as grisly as its message. He cuts up what the mob has left of his concubine. He sends the parts to the tribes of Israel with a note: Look at what we’ve become. What are we going to do about it?

This is the message of the Book of Judges: Look at what we’ve become. What are we going to do about it? This is a call to God’s people in every time and place. It’s a call to radical action. A call not to attack one’s countrymen or neighbors, but to attack the evil that has taken residence in one’s own heart. Do we call ourselves children of God? Is it evident in the way we live our lives? If not, how bad does it have to get before we are willing to change?